


In the Meantime

by Marcia Elena (marciaelena)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this moment they're the start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Meantime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cleflink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleflink/gifts).



> My Spring Fling 2013 story, written for cleflink and her prompt, _Who wants to live forever?_

The green t-shirt joins the gray one on top of the pile of discarded plaid and denim on the tiled floor. Their clothes are torn and stained, blood like tar that will never wash away, but it's only one more badge for them to wear, the last mark of some thing that won't be hurting anyone else anymore. 

It's a tight fit in the shower, but they're past caring about personal space. They're both battered and exhausted and nothing matters but the hot water sluicing down their bodies, their hands on each other, careful as they probe for wounds, intent as they scrub each other clean of the night's grime and gore. 

They don't speak much; they don't have to. They've had years together, years of sharing rooms, of sitting side by side in the Impala, years of not saying enough and of saying everything, years of growing close and apart and close again in all the ways that only brothers (lovers) can. And now, here in this too small space there's no room for anything but closeness. They're holding onto each other, skin against skin, they're clinging to each other like the water might turn cold at any second, like the sun might go out and the world might end. But they've been there, out in the cold, out in the dark, out on the edge where everything ends. They've _been_ the end, but here, here, now, in this moment they're the start. They're the start, they're the light and the heat, they're something more and fear falls away, melts into their now sodden clothes on the floor.

It's instinct, the thing that makes them move, it's love and it weighs liquid inside them, tingles at the base of their spines. They say it in grunts as they kiss, understand it in the pull of breath and flesh as gravity shifts them closer and closer still. They stumble out of the shower, out of the bathroom, they tumble down into bed and they're still wet but it doesn't matter because all that matters is this. 

They stroke circles upon each other with their hands (careful, intent), they stroke circles into each other with the slow, deliberate grinding of their hips. They fill the waiting (wanting) silence in the room with the noises they make, the creaking of the mattress, the rhythmic give and take of their bodies and the shape of each other's name. It sounds like pain, the way they say it, and each whispered syllable tugs at them, cracks them open a little wider and something seeps in, maybe the light flowing in through the window (through the curtains), maybe the longing bursting from their fingertips. It feels like tenderness and they pull each other closer, closer, deeper, always a little deeper. Fear's crawled into the room after them, wants to crawl back inside them where it's warm, but there's no room, no room, they're full to the brim with each other, the rush of (same) blood in their veins, the burden and the wonder of it, grief like a well that might swallow them whole but they hang on to each other, they draw tighter circles on each other like sigils and they're the start and the end but there's no start and no end to this and fear drowns on the floor as they overflow and drown in each other, bodies seized as if by death and they ache, they ache.

Light's streaming in through the curtains like they're made of air, light's settling on their salt-damp skin. They close their eyes against the glare and their hands are still on each other. They close their eyes but the light's inside them. 

Their eyes are closed, their hands are still. They might be dead but they're breathing. They're not asleep but they're dreaming. 

They might die tomorrow. They might die next week, next year, they might die too soon. They might live forever with their luck, and dying, and living, each feels like a curse and a blessing and at times they long for one or the other and neither feels like time enough. They want all the time there is, they want an eternity of this, they want to stop the ache and they want to let it flare, golden-bright and unbearable, they want to keep their hands on each other. 

It weighs inside them, their blood, this love. It pulls them apart, it pulls them together. It makes them into something more. They'll carry it with them and it might slow them down, it might get them killed but in the meantime, in the meantime they're still here, in the meantime they're alive. In the meantime they're the light. 

(They will always be the light.)


End file.
